_Paul._ It’s you that are confiding, _Maman_. If they got into my hands, I would tell them quite another story! One, two, ... (_Makes gesture with his hand._) There’s nothing else to be done with those creatures. It’s good for them to get a thrashing sometimes. It really makes me quite angry; just because of these scoundrels I have to go every morning, on foot, to a miserable office of which I need never have heard; and then either walk home, or jolt along with a wretched cabman. I cannot live in the same fashion as all these copying-clerks that I have to sit side by side with. They buy onion-pies at the costermonger’s, and stand eating them at the street door. _They_ can do that sort of thing—they are made that way—but _I_ can’t. Now, you see, I am in debt to every one—to the cabman, to the tailor, to Chevalier: all our set go to Chevalier, and all the young barristers.... You can hardly expect _me_ to eat onion-pies! And now, I’ve got to go through an examination in some District Institution. It’s dreadful! You see, if I had a fortune, I should never even hear of all these things—Law Courts, and District Institutions, and copying-clerks, with their onion-pies! What do I want with them all? _Madame P._ Yes, yes, I understand.... With your sensitive nature.... You are so nervous! _Paul._ I really don’t know what to do! If there were a chance, I should have no scruples about cheating some one at cards. _Madame P._ Well indeed, in your position—— _Prèzhnev_ (_waking up_). Paul, have you been to the theatre lately? _Paul._ Quite lately. _Prèzhnev._ Who plays the marquises now? _Paul._ No one has done for some time. _Prèzhnev._ I used to play marquises very well once. (MADAME PRÈZHNEVA _rings_. _Enter_ FOOTMAN.) _Madame P._ Wheel your master out on to the balcony, and take some old newspapers and read aloud to him. (_Footman takes newspapers and wheels Prèzhnev on to balcony._) _Paul._ Then there’s my amiable uncle. Just because he’s been a judge somewhere, he puts on superior airs: “You want too much,” he says. What do I want? Have I ever asked for luxury and extravagance? I only want what is necessary, what a man in my set cannot do without. Surely that is plain enough. But no; my kind uncle tells me, “You have no right to want all these things, because you have no fortune.” Why! is it my fault that I have no fortune? What sort of logic is that? _Madame P._ No logic at all; it’s absurd. _Paul._ He says, “You ought to work!” Many thanks! Your humble servant! I’m not a horse, I suppose. _Madame P._ Your uncle has no refinement. _Paul._ No, _Maman_; it is a tragedy. _Madame P._ A tragedy, indeed, _mon cher_! _Paul._ And a terrible one! There’s no need of murder and poison to make a tragedy. _Madame P._ Do you know, Paul, I think the best thing would be for you to marry. _Paul._ I’ve no objection. But whom should I marry?